


let them turn into a river

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: 2x08 coda, Canon Disabled Character, Discussion of 2x06, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fixt-it, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Negative about 2x06, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Negotiation, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: 2x08 coda. Alex has a panic attack at the grocery store and Kyle finds him.
Relationships: Alex Manes & Kyle Valenti, Forrest Long/Alex Manes
Comments: 25
Kudos: 113





	let them turn into a river

**Author's Note:**

> I've said I wouldn't write any more codas. Yet here I am. This works through some of my thoughts about Alex this season, which may not be everyone's cup of tea.
> 
> This also fills two prompts I got over on tumblr: "being given an unexpected hug, and stiffening, then melting into it" and "Alex has a breakdown over something mundane like what type of tuna to buy".
> 
> [PTSD flashbacks, panic attack, mentions of abuse, discussion of possible dub-con (2x06)]

_I'm fine. I'm completely fine,_ Alex repeats to himself as he wanders down the supermarket aisle in search of pasta.

It's not untrue, not exactly. He's certainly functioning a lot better than he was when he first got back from overseas, and his leg is doing rather well these days, even if it's now twinging in pain from the long day he's had. It's just that...he's had nothing but long, exhausting days in what feels like months. It's just that he's really, really tired.

And now he's in the store on a S aturday evening at eleven p m because  the really, really nice guy he was hoping to try dating isn't willing to put up with his baggage. Alex can't blame Forrest.  _He_ wouldn't put up with it if he had a choice. He spent hours just staring at the bottom of his glass after Forrest left, until Maria slammed a bottle in front of him to get his attention and invited herself to lunch tomorrow.

“It's been a while since we really talked, Alex. I almost feel like _you're_ the one avoiding me now.” The little progress Alex has made−according to his therapist, anyway−on setting his boundaries and asserting what he wants must have evaporated sometime during _that night_ , because he didn't manage to say no.

Which means he needs to figure out what to cook.  It's going to have to be meatball pasta, Alex decides. It's the only thing he can think of right now that's suitable for a guest but doesn't require a lot of preparation, and he has  no wish to spend hours in the kitchen .  He grabs his usual brand of pasta, grateful that he knows where it is by heart, and moves down the aisle to the sauce area.

The whole section of tomato sauce cans stares back at him.

Alex takes a step back to encompass the whole thing with his gaze, curses as the move twists his prosthesis enough for a sharp spike of pain to travel up his leg, and closes his eyes to center himself.  _Breathe. Everything's fine._

There are cans and boxes and bottles. Tomato sauce and pulp and juice. Several brands of each, with added flavoring and different sizes. How can there be dozens of different options? Alex is just looking for something to put in meatball pasta, it shouldn't be complicated.

He peers at the labels again, trying to wake up his brain enough to decide. But there's prices to think of, and ecology−what's better again, metal cans or cartons?−and so many different types and some of them are written in fucking Italian and  _he cannot choose._ He stays frozen, two feet away from the shelves, vaguely rocking on his heels.

He can't breathe.

He can't breathe and he can't read the labels anymore because everything is suddenly out of focus. Fuck. He blinks, and inspires−and chokes, and wheezes, and shit, this shouldn't be so hard, why is he having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the deserted supermarket at 11 pm?

But he is, and thinking about how this should be simple, and why is he such a failure, is definitely not helping. He reaches out, tries to grab a can at random, and only succeeds in miscalculating and knocking several cans off the shelf. The noise they make hitting the floor is deafening.

Alex flinches, hard, and falls backward when it triggers another spike of pain up his leg and back.  He hits the shelves at his back, probably knocking more things over−but he doesn't hear them fall over the buzzing in his ears. He feels the pain, though. The pain and the lack of air and the blackening at the edge of his vision.

_Breathe._

He closes his eyes tight, letting himself fall on his ass on the floor and curl up. With his left knee under his chin, his right leg extended, he digs his nails into his palms. _I can't do this. I can't._

He can't have Maria over, and pretend everything is fine. He can't talk to her about her relationship with Michael and about his own failed date. He can't look at her and forget about her kissing him, about the mess of limbs and emotions that followed, about how he can't feel anything but disgust toward himself ever since.

He can't.

Today has been a roller-coaster already. The elation he felt at the paintball park is long forgotten, replaced by wave upon wave of shame. At everything, at the mirror of himself he glimpsed in his father's eyes, at the way he froze with Maria, at the uncontrollably fear that gripped his gut when Forrest leaned in for a kiss, when he'd thought−he doesn't know what he'd thought. Only that in that moment, he felt a hand around his neck clearer than he has in months.

He feels it still, as he gasps for air. He spent every second in the hospital, from the moment his father first lost his temper, waiting for the hand to close around him. And yet he couldn't stop himself from catching his dad when he stumbled, even as he expected him to lash out. Why can't he even fucking p ut a stop to that ? Let go  of this monster for good, cut him out of his life?

Because he's a coward, that's why. He presses his back into the shelves until it hurts so much he gasps out. Pain. _Focus_. _Breathe_.

He's a fucking coward, so of course he's not good enough for someone like Forrest. Just like he'll never be good enough for Michael.

Michael. His mouth on him, again, after months of fantasizing about that. His warmth, his unique scent, his breathing−but they're not alone, and it's too much, too fucking much, that's not what he wants. Alex's skin crawls like that day, and he scrapes his nails at his palms, like he wants to rip it off.

No, no. No. He can't think about that again. He's in the middle of a fucking supermarket, for God's sake! He can't go down that hole.

_Get a fucking grip._

Tomato sauce. That's what he needs. Nothing else. He can put everything aside, like how he's going to have to spend hours alone with Maria in his house tomorrow. After being touched by her that way. After watching her touch Michael that way.

He can't even get a handle on his thoughts long enough to remember the tricks his therapist gave him to get out of a panic attack. Counting. Right. One. Two.

No. Counting backward, or in threes, or the brain just takes over. But where to start? Twenty? Is that enough? A hundred? This is too much. How do you count in threes anyway?

Fuck.

Vaguely, he realizes the hand tightening on his throat is his own, his body desperately clawing at itself to breathe.  Did his father mix his meds on purpose today? He wouldn't put it past him. But what would his purpose be?

Alex hates it. Being put in this position, the only son in town who is supposed to care for his ailing father. He avoids his childhood home as much as he can, but he's still the contact listed for him at the hospital. He hates watching Jesse Manes struggle to move around and feeling empathy he doesn't want, how somehow this is one more thing that brings them closer instead of separating them. Dammit. His dad in this position because he tried to  _kill_ Kyle, after torturing  aliens− people −f or  _decades_ . Alex shouldn't be feeling empathy for this man. He should have watched him fall on his face today, and not even moved a muscle.

Like his father watched him fall  too many times after his injury.

_Manes men don't show weakness._

Why couldn't he? Why is he such a coward that he can't separate the need to keep his father close, to monitor his actions and find out more about Project Shepard, from his own feelings?

Why can't he let the shadow of his father's abuse behind?

_Making out with a hot guy in public is only made hotter when it pisses off all the bigots and the homophobes._

Alex wants to retch in shame.

“Alex!”

Alex can't tell where the voice comes from, but he feels someone coming close and that's what pulls him out of his panic. Reality brutally refocuses. He goes right from foggy, breathless dissociation to cold hypervigilance. He stills, releasing his left leg to be able to use it to swipe at someone's legs, and looks up very slowly.

It's Kyle, crouching down in front of him, frowning in worry. He may have called his name several times already, Alex doesn't know. He's surrounded by fallen cans of tomato, and one of them has burst and send red sauce flying everywhere.

Alex flinches away when Kyle tries to touch him. Breathing burns his lungs, but he forces the air in. Pain doesn't matter. Pain is good, right now, making him focus.

“Alex, what happened?” Kyle asks, like he's speaking to a small child. Or maybe Alex is imagining that. Everything is slow, unreal, his body unfeeling except for the pain.

He tries to make his mouth move to answer, but he can't. He shakes his head in frustration.

“Okay, okay, I won't touch you, alright? It's okay, there's no threat here. Do you know where you are?”

Alex nods, and dips his head, avoiding Kyle's eyes. Coming back to reality just means more shame. He's sitting in the middle of a supermarket, pants stained with tomato, panting and−for God's sake−crying. He's ridiculous.

“Good, you're with me,” Kyle continues. “Was it only a panic attack, or is there something medically wrong with you?”

Alex just stares at him, uncomprehending. He can't put the words together enough to make them make sense.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Kyle reformulates.

Alex shakes his head, and wills his hands to stop trembling.

Without taking his eyes off him for more than a second at a time, Kyle starts to pick up the intact cans of tomato off the floor. Giving him space, Alex understands. When he crouches down again, Alex feels stronger, more anchored, even if his whole body feels like c otton candy .

“Think you can get up now?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah,” Alex rasps out. He holds out a hand, though, rather than try to stand up by himself in the mess of tomato sauce. He wouldn't trust his leg with that on a good day.

Kyle scouts over, puts Alex's arm around his shoulders, and hoists him up.

“What about−” Alex gestures to the mess, and his own dropped groceries.

“I'll tell a clerk, it's okay. Let's just get you home, alright?”

“'Kay,” Alex murmurs. He doesn't have the brain space to think about it beyond his embarrassment, anyway.

K yle lets him lean on him all the way to the checkout counter, and quietly explains what happened to the wide-eyed girl sitting behind it. Alex doesn't listen to her answer, his focus still shot. He stares vaguely at a the packs of gum behind her instead.

“Let's go,” Kyle prompts him to move again.

Alex wants to make it out under his own power, or some variation thereof. He takes his arm back, but he stumbles at the first step, and he has to catch himself roughly on the counter. Rather than make a big deal about it, Kyle simply hooks his arm into his, providing discrete support.

Sometimes Alex wants to hate him for how considerate he is.  Right now he doesn't even have it in him to be anything but thankful, though.

T he store is just two blocks from Alex's house, so he came here on foot, but there's no way he's making it back. His leg aches something fierce, and his steps are uneven, awkward.

Kyle guides him to his car in the parking lot without a comment, and takes the time to make sure Alex is comfortable in the passenger seat before he drives the thirty seconds to his home. There seems to be no end to Alex's shame tonight, and ye t Kyle somehow manages to make it as painless as the situation can be−physically and emotionally.  He gets Alex into the most comfortable armchair in his living room, pants and prosthesis off, with minimum fuss and as much privacy as possible.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs when Kyle finally sits down on the couch across from him.

“I can go, if you tell me you're going to be okay,” Kyle says. “But I can also stay.”

Alex bites his lip. No, he doesn't really want to be left alone with his thoughts. “ Not the night,” he says. “But maybe for a minute?” He doesn't like how whiny his voice sounds, but he's exhausted. He curls up in the armchair, propping his right leg on the arm rest and tucking his left foot under him.

“Okay,” Kyle nods, though it's almost midnight. Alex feels bad for asking that of him, but he did offer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There isn't much to talk about,” Alex shrugs. “I'm sorry. I was just...tired.”

Kyle raises his eyebrows. “You're allowed not to talk about it, but please don't downplay it, Alex. This wasn't you being tired.”

“No, you're right. This was me freaking out over what tomato sauce to buy. But mostly, it's been a long day. Long week. Long...everything.”

“Your work?” Kyle asks.

“Not really. Not mostly. I've been, uh, taking on side projects, researching Project Shepard and Caulfield, helping you guys. And...my superiors were on base yesterday. My boss. And my boss's boss. And for about half-an-hour, I thought they were here to arrest me.”

“What?”

“It turns out that it was unrelated, but people are asking questions. Not my team, but I'm just a Captain, I still have to answer to people. And recently, I've had to cover up a shit-ton of things. Things that I could be court-martialed for and spend my life in prison several times over. You know this, you did the same.”

“Well, I'm risking my medical license for sure, maybe being sued by the hospital, but probably not jail,” Kyle says. “I didn't...honestly, I don't think any of us realized what you did for us.”

“For them,” Alex corrects him. “You're an outsider to them as much as I am. Tied up by shitty legacies and unwanted feelings for people who don't want us back.”

“You're right,” Kyle sighs. “I told Liz, before the surgery, I told Liz once that was over, I was done. But we all know it's not true.”

Alex gives him a commiserating smile. “In any case, Michael, Max and Isobel risk much worse just by being alive. I'm okay with doing my part. I have to admit that I started seriously questioning that when I learned that Liz decided to go ahead with the heart transplant when she thought you wouldn't be able to keep Max alive, because I had to pull in a lot of favors to get you that theater. That's when people started asking questions.”

“Wait, she didn't tell you beforehand? I thought she told you, or I would have.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Liz tends to get tunnel vision,” Alex shrugs. “Rosa told me.”

“Not Michael?”

“Nah, he was wrapped up in his family. We didn't talk.”

“What's going on with you two, anyway?” Kyle asks. “At Caulfield, you were basically flirting the whole way there, and now he's with Maria?”

Alex swallows. “Our...timelines didn't align,” he says. “My family destroyed his. I can't blame him for keeping me at arm's length.”

“That's bullshit, Alex. You're not your family.”

“And yet I brought so much pain into his life,” he sighs. 

“So you're just giving up?”

“He's made it clear over and over that I'm not the one he wants. So yeah, I'm giving up.”

Kyle tilts his head. “There's something you're not telling me.”

Fuck. Either Kyle has become even more observant than he was or Alex is still so rattled that he's letting things through. Probably the second option.

Alex ponders it for a moment. He hasn't talked to anyone about that night. He hasn't seen his therapist in months, not since the nightmares and flashbacks Caulfield brought back up abated, and he doesn't exactly have a host of other friends to discuss things with. It's been a weight on his shoulders that doesn't live, that permeates everything. But then...this is Kyle. Is he really someone Alex want to talk about  _this_ with?

Actually, yes, he decides. Kyle has something of a unique perspective. 

“We had a threesome,” he mutters. It's even more awkward coming out of his mouth than it is when he thinks the word.

“I'm sorry, what did you just say?” Kyle has his mouth hanging open. He's heard perfectly well.

“Michael, Maria and me,” Alex says. “After, uh, Maria and I went to see this boot maker, and he attacked us, stabbed me and went after Maria. She knocked him out and he's in custody,” Alex add hurriedly when he sees Kyle's expression become murderous.

“He stabbed you,” Kyle states.

“Just a little,” Alex shrugs. It's healed just fine, it will probably barely scar. “I'm fine.”

“You got stabbed, and instead of, I don't know, calling me, you had sex with your ex and your best friend. Your female best friend.”

“She initiated it, it's not like we came onto her or anything,” Alex raises his hands.

Kyle blinks. “Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about, Alex.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Kyle works his jaw several times, trying to find his words. “Let's put it like this. Why are you telling me about it?”

“I...don't know,” Alex shrugs. It weights on his mind, and it needs to get out.

“How did it feel?”

Alex swallows. “Not great. I didn't...I didn't enjoy it. I thought−” he trails off.

“What did you think?” Kyle prompts him.

“We were coming off an adrenaline rush, and being with other people, with them, it felt...safe. I didn't want to leave. When Maria started to−I thought I wanted Michael enough that it would be okay, that I could handle it.”

“'Handle it',” Kyle repeats. “Alex, are you even hearing yourself right now? What would you say if one of your partners said they could 'handle' sex with you?”

“I'd back off right away,” Alex sighs. “But it wasn't like that, we were all consenting.”

“You'd just been attacked. You were injured. I'm assuming you'd been on your leg for a long time. Am I getting the right picture here?”

Alex shrugs. He can't deny it, but it doesn't feel right. Maria and Michael didn't  _make_ him have sex with them, he did it of his own free will. Sure, he should have left, but he hasn't been known for making the best decisions for himself, right?

His hands are shaking again.

“I could have left,” he says, his voice trembling. “I didn't want to, but I should have.”

“Okay,” Kyle says, physically backing off. “Don't spiral out again, it's okay.”

“I tried to go on a date, today,” Alex says after a few deep breaths.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. The guy is great. I just...he tried to kiss me, and I couldn't.”

Kyle frowns. “Why−oh, in public?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know about your father?”

“No,” Alex shrugs. “Does it matter? We all have our bad coming out stories.”

“Your father is a little more than that, Alex,” Kyle raises an eyebrow, like Alex doesn't know that.

“It doesn't change anything. He's not ready to date someone who's not out and proud.”

“Except you are, Alex. You are out and proud. And honestly, with what you've been through, it's amazing how open you are. So maybe you don't wear glitter or dye your hair blue−”

Alex snickers.

“What?”

“Forrest has blue hair,” he says.

“The guy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, my point stands. You're not in the closet, you just have baggage. Heavy baggage, maybe, but it's not the same.”

Alex tilts his head. Kyle is not wrong, even if he hadn't thought of it that way.

“You think I'd look good in glitter?” he asks, because he needs to stop getting in too deep with his emotions.

“Alex, you'd look good in sack. Glitter, rainbows, crazy hair colors? You'd definitely pull them off. Green would look good on you. Or purple.”

“I think I'll stick to black, thank you,” Alex laughs. “But maybe I'll think of getting my ears pierced again. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You suddenly seem to be awfully interested in queer fashion.”

Kyle actually blushes. “Um, I...I might have taken to hanging out at Planet 7,” he mumbles.

“You?” Alex asks in shock.

“I wanted to get away from Liz. And anything alien. Actually aliens, I mean. Not that it worked.”

Alex frowns. “Michael was there?”

“No,” Kyle shakes his head. “Not him. Fuck, I shouldn't have told you that.”

It takes Alex a few moments to catch up. “It can't be Max, so...Isobel? Really?”

“I didn't mean to...out her or anything.”

“It's okay, I'm not going to go shout it from the rooftops,” Alex says, because Kyle really looks worried. “Though you should definitely be careful who you tell.”

“I will.”

“What about you?” Alex asks.

“What?”

“Are you trying to tell me you're not as straight as you thought?”

Kyle hides his face in his hands. “I don't know, maybe? I don't...I'm really not sure. I never thought about men that way, but when I see the couples there, or the people who hook up...I don't know.”

“It's okay,” Alex smiles. “It's okay not to know. You don't need to have a word that fits right away.”

“Thanks,” Kyle nods. 

“Anytime.”

“I was so horrible to you in high school, this would be a perfect opportunity for payback. Just goes to show what a good man you are.”

All the levity that this conversation has brought Alex goes right down the gutter, leaving him ice cold. “I'm not a good man,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You are. You're a good friend, Alex. A good person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Alex sighs and lets it go. It's not a conversation for one in the morning. “You should go home,” he says.

“Are you sure you'll be okay?”

Alex stands up slowly, wishing he had his second crutch for the trip over to his bedroom. “Look, I'll call my therapist, okay? I promise.”

“You do that,” Kyle says, standing up as well. Then, before Alex can completely process it, he opens his arms and closes them around him, careful not to make him lose his balance. Alex stiffens, unused to the contact, but it feels good. _Safe_. He relaxes slowly, bit by bit, and awkwardly pats Kyle's back with his free hand. “We'll grab a beer sometime this week, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex nods in Kyle's shoulder. “Would be nice.”

“I'll text you tomorrow.”

Kyle lets him go and fishes out his keys from his pocket, turning to leave.

“Hey, Kyle?” Alex calls after him quietly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

“You're very welcome,” Kyle smiles sweetly.

*

Despite his exhaustion, Alex doesn't fall asleep for hours, and when it does, it's to restless slumber, full of vague nightmares. He drags himself out of bed at nine, two hours past his usual wake-up time, and spends the morning trying to force his aching body into submission with a mix of PT exercises and yoga, that turns too easily into a punishment. _A hundred push-ups, for being so weak._ The voice in his head is his father's.

As he stares at his counter come eleven, an hour before Maria is supposed to be there, he remembers something. He still doesn't have tomato sauce. Or pasta, for that matter, since he never got to pay for his groceries last night.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs to himself, almost smirking at the joke that is his life. There is nothing he wants less than to spend the day with Maria. He doesn't have anything to cook her, and the Crashdown is closed on Sundays.

No. He's not going to do this.

He eyes his phone, thinking of coming up with some bullshit excuse to Maria. He can think of a dozen that would work well enough off the top of his head, though she's sure to give him hell for it later. At the thought of even seeing her later, Alex grimaces.

No. He sticks his phone in his back pocket and grabs his wallet, his keys and his crutch.

Right before he leaves, on a whim, he grabs a pen and a pad of sticky notes and writes SORRY. HAD SOMETHING TO DO. in capital letters. He sticks the note on his front door and sets the alarm.

Maybe this is his breaking point.

*

Forrest looks truly surprised when Alex shows up on his doorstep. He had to look up the actual address, since Forrest doesn't actually live in the barn where they met, and the Longs have several properties in the same area. He wouldn't want to knock on an random door and run into Wyatt.

“Hi,” Alex says.

“Is that voice in your head already gone?” Forrest asks.

“Not exactly. I just...thought you should hold all the cards.”

Forrest stares at him for a moment, thinking. “Alright,” he says. “Come in, then.”

The house is really more of a cabin, small and wooden all around. The inside is very different from Jim Valenti's cabin, though, and it screams Forrest. It seems this man really is what he shows to the outside, an open book.

The opposite of Alex, in a way.

“Sit down,” Forrest says. “I was just making coffee, you want some?”

“Sure. Black, please.”

Alex sits down on a comfortable couch covered with a patterned comforter while Forrest pours them both mugs in the tiny kitchen area.

“So, what did you want to say?”

Alex takes a deep inspiration. Despite his coming here being a heat of the moment thing, he's tried to practice his words in his car. He's not good with words, but it all comes down to what Kyle said last night. 

“You asked me about my PTSD triggers, yesterday,” he says.

“Yes,” Forrest agrees carefully.

“You know, the funny thing is that no one's ever asked me that before. Beside my therapist, I mean. Most of my friends don't know I have PTSD, and the one who does usually doesn't need to ask.”

“Alien guy?” Forrest asks curiously.

“No. My relationship with Michael is more complicated. He has his own issues.”

“Okay. So you want to tell me about your triggers?”

“How they relate to what we talked about,” Alex says. “Being closeted. It's not that I don't want to come out. Sure, I wasn't out in the Air Force during DADT and that was hell, but here...I haven't been in the closet in this town since early high school. Everyone who knows me here knows I'm gay, and I'm fine with that.”

“Then what is it?” Forrest asks.

Alex bites his lip, then takes the plunge. “The last time I really pissed off a homophobe, it didn't end well for the guy I was with.”

“What do you mean? Did you get assaulted?”

“Yeah, you could say that. He went at my...boyfriend's hand with a hammer.”

Forrest covers his mouth with his hand in shock.

“I was seventeen,” Alex continues. “It was my father.”

“Fuck, Alex, I−”

Alex waves it off. “Don't apologize. I just...I wanted you to know. I'm not in the closet. But ever since that day, I haven't been able to be with someone and feel completely safe.”

“Of course,” Forrest murmurs. “Was your father generally abusive? Or did he snap?”

“He didn't start hitting me until he figured out I was gay, but he basically raised us−me and my brothers−as if we were in basic training,” Alex says. “After the...accident, he made me enlist, and I didn't come back to Roswell until a few months ago.”

“That's, wow, that's a lot. I thought my family was bad.”

“There's no comparison to make,” Alex shrugs. “You're brave enough to be proud of who you are in spite of them. I...I'm trying to get there. But it's hard.”

“I get that,” Forrest nods. “I understand it better now. Something didn't quite make sense about you.”

Alex thinks of Michael, of aliens and the secret lab and his classified work. He thinks of his father in the hospital, and being unable to just let him fall. He thinks of last night in the supermarket. “I don't make a lot of sense,” he says. “Which is why I completely get that you don't want to try something with me. I just wanted you to know.”

Forrest pauses and looks him up and down. “You know, maybe...I've put my standards very high, because I've been burned too many times, but so far you met everyone of them easily, except for this one. Maybe it's unrealistic. Maybe I shouldn't let you go, just because you're not quite ready to kiss me in public.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like you Alex. I really like you, and I'm guessing the fact that you came all the way out here means you feel the same. So maybe those standards were just me closing myself off from opportunities. Maybe I should give this a chance.”

Alex smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts, comments make my day.
> 
> I'm also over on [Tumblr](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/).


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